Faith
by SimplyTully
Summary: Present!Blackfish, AFFC-ADWD timeline. The Northern Army has regrouped and is trying to reconquer the North in the name of the Starks. Brynden makes a discovery that turns his life around, unearthing old choices and sorrows. Look out for the guest stars


**Status of my fanfics, in inner chronological order**

**Past!Blackfish:**  
>- CHALLENGE, posted<br>- FOR THE CAUSE, work in progress  
>- A WORTHLESS LIFE, posted<br>- UNTITLED 1, work in progress  
>- A TULLY PARTING, posted<br>- THE KNIGHT OF THE BLOODY GATE, posted

**Present!Blackfish (AFFC-ADWD timeline):**  
>- MOURNING, posted<br>- ALLEGIANCE, posted  
>- FAITH, posted<p>

This story takes a rather bold step towards explaining the holes in Brynden's ASOIAF backstory. I've discussed it rather hotly on the boards, and as usual I'd love to hear your opinion. Enjoy!

BRYNDEN

They were waiting to engage the enemy, any enemy; and meanwhile they cleaned up where they could. The Stark direwolf flying over Brynden "Blackfish" Tully's army cheered the smallfolk. After they routed the brigands from the village, an old woman pushed a bottle of mead in Maege Mormont's hands. The mace-swinging, horn-blowing, foul-mouthed lady of Bear Island had captured the imagination of the villagers, even though she was a bit far from the traditional image of the fair warrior-maiden.

Mormont was not Brynden Tully's second-in-command for nothing. She thoughtfully shared the mead with the officers. If the Blackfish had done it, they would have accepted without a thought... instead they cheered her and dared her to drink it all. She did.

Now she was lying in Brynden's arms under a tree in the feeble afternoon sun, their weapons and her war horn neatly resting together beside them, and it felt so good.

Brynden had no illusions. The summer of his life was long gone, along with the summer of his world, and his autumn was trickling away; but he was glad he could still recapture some warmth with her.

Mormont snuggled against his shoulder. If she betrayed any tipsiness, it was only in her voice. "With all due respect for my late husband, father of my daughters," she said solemnly, "you, ser, are no bear."

Brynden took that as praise. He made a show of lifting his head and looking down at his surcoat with the Tully leaping fish embroidered in shiny black thread. "By all the gods, you're right." Mormont snickered sleepily. He turned to her and patted the front of her surcoat; it was meant as a gentler touch, but there was chain mail underneath. "If I may say so, my lady, you are not really a bear either."

Her threatening growl ended in a deep chuckle and a sigh. Sleep was beckoning for Brynden too. He kissed her hair, closing his eyes and losing himself in the warm pulse of the sun on his eyelids.

So good.

"Lady Maege! Ser Brynden! Where are you?"

Brynden's eyes flew open with a guilty start. Maege stretched as though she had no intention to get up. He urged her by setting an example, and was rewarded with an armful of wobbly Mormont and a stream of curses ending in "priggish old fart".

It was indeed fitting, but she was not talking about _him_. Actually Lord Jason Mallister was not old, though his son had fought with Robb Stark; but he was a dour man, devoid of humour. The Blackfish set her firmly on her feet, and Mormont squared her shoulders.

Mallister was waiting down in the clearing, looking around as though he did not suspect with reasonable clarity what they did when they disappeared to "discuss war plans". Still, Brynden let go of Maege's hand when they walked into view. Mallister turned towards them, stern as the eagle that was his sigil. _Above__the__Rest_ were the words of his House, and he took them very seriously. Rarely did Brynden forget that Mallister was a lord, and he was only a knight, and a disreputable one at that.

"My lady. Ser Brynden. There is something you should see."

The Blackfish spoke before thinking. "Don't waste my time, Mallister. Tell me what it is, I'll decide what to do."

Lord Jason was unruffled. "It's a building among the trees," he explained. "We do not dare to get closer; there is no open view anywhere."

Brynden nodded. "A building among the trees is a good beginning," he said by way of apology. "Thank you, Lord Jason. So, shall we go and ask them?"

MAEGE

"This fort was not here before." Brynden leaned forward with his hands on his saddle.

Lady Mormont rolled her eyes up at him. "You southrons should really keep better track of your forts." She was rewarded by the twitch of a smile and a sideways glance of Tully blue through his shock of grey hair.

"I mean it was not here in this form, Mormont. It might have once been a small unremarkable Riverland homestead, recently enlarged and fortified." Brynden straightened up and tightened his grip on the reins.

Maege held out her arm, putting a restraining hand on his knee. "Careful, Blackfish. If I ever get to command this army, I want to beat you in single combat, not see you killed by rushing headlong into danger."

The Blackfish laughed. "I would like you to try, my lady. Very well." He turned in the saddle to address their twenty-men guard. Their whole host was at their backs, led by Lord Mallister, but taking risks was stupid. "Follow at fifty paces and keep us covered." He spurred towards the fort at an unthreatening trot, and Maege's stout mare matched his grey warhorse's pace.

They slowed down close to the wooden walls. An overgrown path led to a wide double door. "It's just a palisade, but tough enough to hold off enemies for a while," Brynden noted. "There's no room for hidden archers. I think it must... Seven h-!" He halted his horse, swearing in an uncharacteristically restrained manner. The explanation came quick. "It's a sept."

He pointed at the tall building that overshadowed the palisade. From a distance among the trees it had looked like a tower, but now they could distinguish the seven-sided walls and stained glass windows, twinkling in small rainbows under the sun. One shattered window glared at them like an empty eye socket.

Mormont was not familiar with that kind of religious buildings. Her old gods lived in the woods, and she knew they were not constrained to the North, no matter what Southern septons and those damn followers of the Red God said. But she tried to keep an open mind, also because Brynden was devout to the Seven, in his odd profane way.

Her musing were interrupted by a grey-clad figure appearing from the waist up on top of the palisade. A septon's hood covered his head, but his face looked young. His unarmed hands leaned on the parapet.

"Welcome," he called out, and his voice confirmed Maege's judgment. A lad of no more than twenty. "A visit from Lady Mormont and the Blackfish is a great honour."

Brynden Tully smiled warily. "You have us at a disadvantage, brother. You know who we are - we wear our colours - but are you friend or foe?"

"I am a friend," the youth replied. "Come inside and rest. Your men too."

Mormont glared at him. "Your habit does not make you trustworthy, with all these Lannisters and Greyjoys running around."

The youth sighed. "I shall come out, then. Alone." He ducked as though to step on a ladder and get down from the palisade. Then he peeked out again. "By the way," he said with a thin smile, "my name is Lancel Lannister."

Brynden and Maege stared at each other. "Who the hell is Lancel Lannister," the lady of Bear Island mused aloud.

"Some cousin of Jaime's. But I thought he was at court. What's he doing in a sept?"

"A fortified sept, at that."

Brynden drew together his thick eyebrows. Something was amiss. Mormont had no time to ask further questions, because the gates of the palisade swung open. Knight and warrior lady both put their hand to their weapons, but the sept's yard was empty, and the men pushing the gates where simple grey-garbed brothers, who smiled at them, bowed and retired in silence.

Lancel Lannister stepped out, alone as he has promised. Now the hood was pushed back from his head, revealing thin whitish hair and a face more lined and drawn than his years allowed for. This was not a healthy boy. His hands were folded peacefully, but Mormont could not ignore the sword hanging by his side from a simple leather belt.

She glanced at Brynden and was astonished. The Blackfish's eyes were getting wider and wider. "You're not supposed to wear that, brother," he said, nodding at the sword. "The Warrior's Sons exist no more."

Lancel nodded. "The Faith Militant was outlawed by King Maegor Targaryen, it is true, but it has never ceased to exist. Now King Tommen has reinstated it."

Mormont thought she understood Brynden's shock. "Priests with swords," she snorted.

Brynden's eyes were fixed on Lancel. "The orders of the Kingslayer's incestuous child bind no one," he said stiffly. "Weren't you a knight, lad?"

"I still am," the youth said with pride. "Before, I was supposed to protect the innocents in the name of the king. Now I do it in the name of the Seven."

Brynden's rage was plain. He surely was still thinking of the Lannisters' alleged involvement in the Red Wedding. "I hope you make a better job of it. But from what I hear about your family, not much chance."

Lancel stepped closer and looked up at the Blackfish. "Weren't you anointed a knight in your boyhood too, Ser Brynden? Didn't you swear the same oaths and stood the same vigil as my cousin Jaime? I wonder about the innocents in Riverrun, those you threw out so you could defend the castle. Which you surrendered anyway, else you'd have died with the whole garrison. Now you tell me, who is the friend and who is the foe?"

Enraged, Mormont expected Brynden to put the lad in his place, and instead saw him check his anger. "Ser Jaime instructed you well, Ser Lancel. Did he tell you he threatened to send my nephew Edmure's newborn child over the walls with a trebuchet?"

"Yes," Lancel replied. "But he was not happy about it, and he did not."

"Because I surrendered."

"Actually, you agreed you'd give yourself up. Then you turned over the castle to Jaime and fled."

Mormont could not stand it anymore. "Why, you little…"

A hand on her shoulder. Brynden was now very calm, his voice rough and low. "Get down from your high horse, boy. Come back and judge me when you and your cousin have to defend your family with your last forces, and everybody else is dead, prisoner or a foe." He turned his horse sharply. "Let us go, my lady. We have no business here."

"Wait," Lancel called out. "What's past is past, Ser Brynden. We're not better than each other. The Faith Militant is held by many as a bunch of fanatics, but here it's a matter of survival, for us and those we protect. Compared to the Greyjoys and Freys and my own family, your people are friends. I offer you help and hospitality. Will you take it?"

Brynden made his horse complete a full circle until he faced Lancel again. His jaw muscles stood out against his weathered face, and his eyes were an icy winter sky. Then he turned to Mormont, and his gaze softened. "What do you say?"

Were it up to her, Maege would have spanked some respect into the little Lannister spawn. "You command the Northern Army now, Blackfish."

"You think I made you second-in-command for your mild and patient disposition, love? I need your advice. The lad has reminded me how thick my head can be."

"Are you just going to let him call you a coward?"

Brynden grinned wildly. "I'll make him eat his words, sooner or later. But for now I do have to feed and shelter my men, not to mention that a fortified base here would be very useful. Still… he's a Lannister. Does your instinct tell you differently, Maege?"

Brynden Tully might be proud and stubborn, but he was a great strategist because he valued his advisors highly. She sighed. "My instinct tells me he's right, much as I dislike him. We might accept his offer with a selected garrison, and the Warrior's Sons, no matter how few, could make a difference by joining our army. Let me go to them. I'll talk with Lancel and assess the situation."

Brynden nodded slowly. "I agree. With one exception: we'll both talk with him."

BRYNDEN

The Blackfish strode along the torch-lit corridors, looking for his cell. He had shrugged away all the brothers attempting to escort him. He could find it by himself; and his patience had reached a limit. He could stand only so many Lannisters and Warrior's Sons at the same time.

Maege had gone to oversee the quartering of their garrison. He knew not where her cell was, and would not seek her out. He desired her company, but he did not want to infect her with his black mood.

A fast step behind him. He whirled, lifting his hand towards the hilt of his sword behind his back. It was Lancel Lannister, unarmed.

Brynden relaxed - almost. He let his hand drop and crossed his arms. "Ser Lancel," he greeted him in a warning tone.

Lancel came to a halt, breathless. "Ser Brynden, please do not dismiss the Warrior's Sons' legitimacy only because you don't recognize the king's authority."

"You could have mentioned it at dinner, instead of talking about the weather." Which in Westeros was a grave topic indeed, with winter upon them.

"Hah." Lancel looked up at the glowering Blackfish. "I did not dare, with your she-bear standing in full armour behind us and looking like she wanted to bite my head off!"

Brynden detected grudging respect in the young man's voice. The warmth in his heart flared up and brought a smile to his lips. He bent his head with his hand beside his mouth, as though revealing a secret. "She scares me too."

Lancel breathed out a tense laugh. Brynden resumed his walk, not bothering to slow down for the smaller man. "She keeps to the old gods," he went on. "The Faith Militant used to persecute other beliefs, before Maegor Targaryen outlawed it."

"Times have changed. Now the faithful make the Faith, not the other way around."

Brynden made him stop and stared at him. "This does not sound very orthodox."

The young man opened his hands. "I've told you what drove me to join. It's been this way for some decades. A boy king can't reinstate something that has always existed. Who makes up the Faith Militant? Young knights, full of ideals, hopes and virtue, disappointed by our lords and our families because they don't respect their gods and their people... so we go into hiding, serving the gods to serve the people. If some learn from our example, very well. But to learn, they must be alive. That's what we do. We keep people alive with our swords and our faith."

Lancel spoke with fervour. Brynden's heart was heavier than ever. He, too, had once been a disappointed young knight. He wanted to believe the lad; he also wanted to run away from that place. "May the gods prove you right," he said softly, and turned to go.

"What about Jaime?" Lancel called after him.

Brynden welcomed the burst of rage that consumed his dejection. He wheeled to face the young man. "The Lannister lions destroyed my family. Don't try me, lad."

"Uncle Tywin is dead. His Frey crony soon will be, one way or the other. Roose Bolton too, if I have to kill him myself. The gods have judged them. But Jaime..."

"I'll fight alongside you, Ser Lancel, if your words are true," Brynden snarled, "but don't ask me to be merciful towards the Kingslayer."

"Jaime had nothing to do with the Red Wedding!"

"There were survivors. I know what Roose Bolton said when he killed Catelyn Stark and King Robb." Brynden's voice was dead as old ice. "Jaime Lannister sends his regards."

Lancel nodded wearily. "Jaime visited Bolton when Bolton was supposed to be still a Stark bannerman. He said those words in benevolence. Bolton is the traitor."

"The Kingslayer told you this, I suppose," Brynden shot back with open disdain.

The young man's patience was not plentiful either. "Is there someone you admire at court?" he snapped, out of the blue.

The Blackfish was blunt. "No."

"You were quite close to Lord Commander Barristan Selmy."

Brynden stifled a curse for the sake of the gods. He rolled his eyes to the stone vaulted ceiling of the corridors, all moving shadows and lambent flames. "I've met Selmy once in my life. And he's not at court. He was banished. He might be dead by now."

"But you admired him."

"Aye. Who didn't?"

"My family. But if I asked you in earnest to give my regards to Selmy, and you went to court, told him 'Lancel Lannister sends his regards' and then killed him?"

Brynden wanted to end the conversation. "Last warning, lad. Don't try me."

"I hate that you despise Jaime!" Lancel burst out, sounding all of his young years. "He adores you! You were his hero."

"Pity. He gave it all up when he killed Aerys, the king he had sworn to protect as a knight of the Kingsguard. He had his chance and lost it." Brynden turned away.

"You asked me not to judge you until I've been in your place," Lancel said, hurt. "Have you tried to put yourself in Jaime's place? The Targaryen reign had finally degenerated into madness. He had to save the city!"

Brynden turned to him one last time. By all the gods, that place was a poisonous trap, choking him until his eyes hurt and swam with tears. He clenched his lips, glaring at an undaunted Lannister, trying to make him eat his words as he had promised Maege.

All that he could say wounded him to his soul. _"Jaime had sworn,"_ he repeated, then nodded brusquely and left him there.

MAEGE

They heard his step from a corridor away. When he turned the corner, Brynden's frown was as black as his namesake. Lady Mormont and Lord Mallister were waiting for him in silence. The brothers had accommodated the lords and officers of the Northern Army in neighbouring cells, and Mormont thought it convenient, if lacking in privacy.

"Our scouts have just detected a large army a couple of days north-east of here, ser," Lord Mallister told him formally, hands behind his back.

The Blackfish's eyebrows lifted. "At last!" he exclaimed, then looked shrewdly at Mallister. "And you're not telling me whose army because you don't know yet, right?"

"Aye. But considering their number and position..."

"It's the Greyjoys," Mormont spat.

"Most likely," Mallister added. "They are travelling in battle formation towards the sea. They expect to be challenged, but maybe they don't expect us."

"Or their scouts are better than ours - which I doubt, since you train ours, Blackfish - and they simply don't care." Mormont showed him the map she had rolled up under her arm. "If they keep it up, they'll be upon us the day after tomorrow."

"We have time to set up a trap, ser."

Brynden nodded, looking at the map. He pointed. "This fort is a good position to hold. If we put our archers along the river and block the enemy down here we'll surprise them. But no movements of troops yet. If they are unaware, let them stay that way."

"You don't advocate intercepting them?" Mallister inquired.

"I'm not leaving the Warrior's Sons at my back," Brynden replied sharply.

"But you'd use their fort as a base."

"I want them under my eyes. I hope you've posted sentries as I've instructed you."

"And a couple more." Mormont's _couple_ were a bunch of Bear Island soldiers, charged to roam the fort in pairs, with very strict instructions: no seducing servants, no raids in the kitchen, report anything amiss. Some brothers had looked them askance, but so far there had been no incidents.

Brynden nodded. "Then we can retire for the night. Keep your eyes open, and..."

"Ser Brynden, there's more," Mallister added. "The local villagers harbour strange expectations. Our arrival fanned them, and now, this other host..."

"Make it short, man."

Mallister sighed. "It's not easy. Wild rumours are making the round of Westeros, and the villagers are drinking them up. They say it's the girl -"

"The Greyjoy girl? She's too bright to blunder into our trap."

"The Targaryen girl."

Brynden and Maege stared at him. "King Aerys' family was exterminated by the Lannisters after Jaime killed him."

"Two children escaped. The boy must be dead, but the girl... they speak of dragons..."

Brynden had enough. "Dragons are no more. As for a Targaryen heir, even though Westeros is divided, there is no way she could gather enough forces for an invasion."

"As I warned you, wild rumours," Mallister replied, unperturbed. "But we should know what is said around us. Good night, my lady, Ser Brynden." He turned and disappeared into a cell near the end of the corridor.

Mormont pointed at a door between two lit torches. "This is yours. Mine is over here. It was Glover's, but as second-in-command I requisitioned it." She said it with a straight face, hoping to cajole a smile.

"Good thinking," Brynden replied distractedly.

"Bryn..."

He looked old, Maege thought. He was old... older than her, but it usually did not show, not in anything that mattered. Now the crease between his brows had deepened into a scar. He looked like the night she had been forced to tell him his beloved niece Catelyn had become an undead monster. It had been their first night together; there was no other balm for their wounds, and it was turning out to be much more than mutual comfort. After the awkward first times, they slept together with the same ease they lived together as comrades - comfortably, intimately, joyfully. There was no trace of that joy now.

"I may have drank too much at dinner, lady," Brynden said with a self-deprecating grin, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm not up to your... demands."

His eyes skirted hers to check along the corridor. Definitely not drunken eyes. Worried, suspicious, bright with a hidden fever. Brynden was not a man who overindulged his appetites - unless he so wished. "My demands can wait," Mormont said softly, denying her own desire. "I only want to stay with you."

Brynden looked straight at her, and she could tell how difficult it was for him. "Not tonight, love. Let us wait for whatever is coming to us. Then..." His eyes fled again along the corridor. He snorted softly through his nose. "Not tonight."

"As you wish," Mormont said dutifully. Just for that, she would give him a black eye at the first chance. "Good night, Bryn." She lifted on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He turned his face to hers. A quick embrace, enough to know that he was far from unwilling and unable. He smelled like leather and smoke and the rough tallow powder they used in the baths downstairs. But she had enough of the Blackfish's mysteries. He would come to her when he wished, and meanwhile she would enjoy a quiet night's sleep.

"Good night, my lady." That was the last Mormont heard and saw of him, leaning against the wall with his head cocked and a faint smile, before she closed her door.

Hours later she was in bed but still awake when she heard the screams.

She jumped up in her tunic, grabbed her mace and ran out, barefoot. She recognized Brynden's voice: "Unhand me, you bastards! Unhand me or I'll kill you all!"

Torches guttered in the corridor. His cell door was closed. Mormont rammed it with her shoulder and slammed into the room with her mace over her head. A sword met her like a wall of stone, pushing her back outside. Unbalanced, she stumbled and a second clanging blow sent her flying against the wall.

By then other people were running down the corridor, and a couple of brothers were bending over her, concerned. Half-stunned, Mormont tried to push herself on her feet and realized they were restraining her. She almost fought back, until she understood more brothers were holding back her attacker, and her attacker was Brynden.

He bid them stand down with a flick of his fingers. In a black tunic and breeches, ever meticulously neat, he stood with his right shoulder against the door jamb, careful of his recently mended left arm. His sword with the leaping fish dangled from his fingers, dragging on the floor. He glanced at her, turned and went back to his cell.

Mormont looked around at the Warrior's Sons and assorted brothers, and their own nobles and knights. "I'll take care of it." She glimpsed Lancel's pinched face peering through the crowd, and nodded firmly. Then she slung her mace over her shoulder and pushed through Brynden's door.

Unsurprised, Brynden was laying his sword against the wall beside the bed. When she closed the door, the room plunged into darkness.

"Meet me on an open field and we'll see who lands on his arse, Blackfish," she snarled.

She heard his soft step, then the bed creaking. "Go back to your cell, Mormont."

Maege stepped forward in the dark. She bumped into a stool, cursed it and finally found the bed. Brynden was sitting on it. She propped her mace beside his sword, then climbed on and sat beside him with her shoulders against the wall.

"Who are the bastards who must unhand you?"

"A nightmare. Go back to sleep."

"_You'll_ go back to sleep, Bryn, if I have to hit you over the head with my mace."

Brynden flinched. Maege heard the faint rustle of his fingers through his hair. Her eyes had got used to the shadows, faintly lit by the torches outside. The cut Brynden had received in his run-in with the Brotherhood Without Banners had healed well, but he was not touching that. It was more like a half-gesture with his fingers behind his ear. Maege was familiar with his nervous tics, and this was not one of those. Was he remembering some ancient fight?

"They did something to you, didn't they? The Warrior's Sons?"

No answer.

Mormont was groping into Brynden's mind as she had groped through his dark cell. Maybe she had found something. "Did they try to kill you?"

She could have been alone in the darkness.

A sudden intuition chilled her. "They did kill someone. Someone you knew."

His voice was a whisper. "Go back to sleep, Maege."

Mormont held out her hand and found his arm. Brynden was shaking. "You don't have to tell me now," she said, holding his arm. "Just let me stay."

"I'm tired," Brynden admitted in a whisper. He let himself slide until he was lying with his head on her knees. He pulled up his legs and curled in her lap.

As she heard his breath becoming slower and deeper, she stroked his hair. She remembered all the times they had had fun trimming it. She parted it with her fingers; it felt guiltily like reaching into some secret drawer of Brynden's mind. Was there a tiny old scar behind his ear?

Brynden had dozens of old scars - and she had seen them all. He had told her each one's history, amid much laughing and boasting and lovemaking. But he had never told her about that one.

BRYNDEN

When the thumps on the door became louder, the Blackfish came to his senses. Dawn was graying in the window. He had fallen asleep with his head on Mormont's knees. She had drawn a blanket over him, then had succumbed to sleep herself, keeling over with her own head against his stomach in an improper tangle.

"Door's open," he muttered. Getting up was the last thing he wanted. Maege's thighs smelled good. The dream was falling away in tatters, but the sweetness remained.

Lord Jason Mallister looked in. His eyes went wide as saucers. Brynden and a drowsy Maege sat up. Did he truly believe they had so many one-to-one talks about war plans?

Had Brynden been caught with a whore he would not have given a fig, yet he felt compelled to protect his lady. If there was someone who was able to defend her own honour it was Maege Mormont. But of course his thrice-damned Tully correctness had to kick in, and Brynden blurted out the pure truth. "It's not what it seems."

_You call this the truth? The truth is, Lord Jason, by your leave, we fuck like rabbits every time we can, but tonight I was not in the mood. Aye, that would make a really good impression._

He felt Mormont stiffen by his side. He had hurt her. Knowing she could retaliate in kind - especially in the early morning, when she was denied the long naps she so loved - was no comfort. "He had a nightmare and I kept him company," she said airily, getting up and shaking out her nightdress around her knees.

Truth could cut indeed. Brynden felt like an idiot. He pushed back his hair from his eyes, wanting to tell her something nice in front of Lord Mallister, something true, to make up for his denial. He vaguely remembered her soothing him to sleep by stroking his hair. He said the first thing that crossed his mind, a special kindness they had shared for a long time. "Thank you, Lady Maege. By the way, could you even my hair out?"

She glared at him. Seven hells, why was it wrong? She _liked_ that. "Tie it back."

Brynden felt a stab of pain. "I haven't tied my hair for fifteen years," he replied softly. He did not think Mormont heard him: she sailed around Mallister and out the door.

He scratched the offending hair, angry with himself and the world. He was not used to share his life and soul with someone. If he had to go through the inconvenience of a relationship, he wanted to show his pride and love for his lady and keep her close. He should have accepted that damn proposal at Widow's Watch - what he believed to be _her_ proposal, not Lady Flint's. Now they would be married and in no need of hiding.

And he would be in big, big trouble, in the middle of a desperate war, when any weakness could be deadly. The Blackfish pulled himself together. He rose from the bed, hitched up his breeches, straightened his tunic and faced Mallister with folded arms.

"The scouts are back, Ser Brynden. Lady Maege was right. It's the Greyjoys. Still proceeding towards the sea."

Brynden nodded, scratching his cheek. He craved a bath and a shave. "We'll speed them on their way. Keep watching, and prepare to deploy the army tonight, under cover of darkness. They won't know what hit them."

"As you wish, ser."

"Good job, Lord Jason." He stepped towards the door.

"I apologize for assuming wrongly," Mallister added.

_The Seven help me, just shut up._ "No harm done."

"I don't share your views, Ser Brynden, but my esteem for you is unchanged."

Brynden froze at the threshold. "What views?"

"Well, you spend so much time with a remarkable lady like Maege Mormont... few men would remain indifferent. But from what I've heard of you, it's understandable."

"Mallister."

The Blackfish's ominous tone cut through Lord Jason's convolutions. "I mean what they say about you and Ser Barristan Selmy."

_Of course._ Brynden should have expected it, but he had been so unreasonably preoccupied with silly trifles such as the upcoming battle!... He was not even angry any more, only tired, tired and bitter. He rubbed his forehead. "Lord Jason, one question. Why Selmy? I barely knew him. Why him, of all the men in Westeros?"

_Maybe because you joke about him yourself,_ his mind answered.

"Well, it makes sense, somehow. Do you mean it's not true?"

_I never joke about that one time with Maege._ Brynden recalled the exact circumstances of the joke. It hurt.

Jason Mallister was a good man and a chivalrous lord, grievously wounded by the war like them all. He was a faithful Tully bannerman; he had helped push Hoster Tully's funeral boat into the river. The memory of his brother - and of Catelyn, and Lysa, and the kids... - was the final touch to Brynden's sadness.

"I don't believe in truth, Lord Jason," he replied quietly, and left the room.

_It seems this is my all-purpose solution to unpleasant conversations. I should change my emblem. The Black Privy. Fearsome indeed._

The austere cells had no privy, but there was one at the end of the corridor. Brynden strode towards it, still smarting for Mallister's comments and his own foolishness.

With time he had found some comfort in the acceptance of his fiercely independent nature. He had made peace with Hoster before he died. He had mellowed to the point of trusting himself to Maege, his unlikely source of patience and understanding. Yet his jealous protection of his ways, his constant defiance of expectations, his obdurate struggle to be true to himself kept hurting those he loved. It tortured him, when he should concentrate all his attention on the war, or, in a perfect world, on his lady.

Already he missed her so much he ached inside his mind, his heart, his groin. He treasured the chastely awkward night they had just spent. Such feelings fully rewarded the hassle of intimacy. But then came the pain. Gods, the pain was hard. He had been running away from it all his life, only to fall into its ambush in such an absurd way.

There were movements inside the privy. Brynden leaned against the wall, arms folded, disposed to wait. He noticed some brothers going about their early morning errands. He looked at the grey sky outside the small windows, wondering whether a sudden squall would hamper them more than their enemies. He mused about the strategic role to assign to the Warrior's Sons, if Lancel Lannister insisted on helping them.

Whoever was in the privy was taking ages. Just like him, Brynden's bladder was not fifty anymore. He knocked on the door. There was no answer, and yet the noises inside were unmistakable.

Brynden frowned. He could have gone outside to piss, but this was beginning to look strange. He knocked again. "Hey there, need some help?" Still no answer.

The Blackfish felt uneasy. There he was, in his underclothes, inside a fortress of dubious loyalty, pondering about a privy. Yet someone might be in need...

The door opened, and a thick, rosy-faced brother came out, lifting his open hands in apology. He mimed a needle sewing through his lips, then smiled expectantly.

Brynden saw the light. "Oath of silence?"

The brother nodded.

"I should have taken one long ago," Brynden grumbled. The brother beamed with understanding, clearly aware of the Blackfish's reputation for bluntness. He bowed and turned towards the kitchens.

"Wait," Brynden called. When he had the attention of the brother again, he asked: "You aren't a Warrior's Son, are you?"

The monk shook his head.

"How many are you? Unarmed brothers, I mean?"

The man showed ten fingers, then eight. Eighteen non-combatants to protect. "Why did you - no, wait." The conversation was going to be clumsy. Brynden chose his next question carefully. "Have you been with the Warrior's Sons for long?"

The brother shook his head.

"Did they force you to join?" _No._

It would be easier to ask Lancel Lannister, but Brynden wanted to hear the other side. The mute brother was proving more eloquent than Jason Mallister had ever been.

"Did they protect you from some threat?" _Yes._

So the young Lannister might be telling the truth after all. "Who threatened you? Lannisters? Freys? Boltons? Greyjoys?" _No,__no,__no__and__no._

Brynden realized such questioning was pointless. Everybody threatened harmless folks, even his own army. He had to ask his officers. Unless it was something worse. Wildlings at large, the Others spilling down from the Wall, the Hound...

"But the Hound is dead," he mused aloud.

The brother blanched. He shook his hands in front of him, as though Brynden had conjured up Sandor Clegane himself, half-burned face and all. "Wait," the stunned Blackfish tried to reassure him. "A brigand wears the Hound's helm now, it's not him..."

The brother turned and disappeared in a hurry down the corridor.

MAEGE

"So we're agreed," Brynden said one last time, walking between Mallister and Mormont towards his cell. Lancel Lannister followed, deep in thought. "Lord Jason, you have the vanguard. I'll follow you with the main body. Lady Maege, you'll lead the reserves across the river if they threaten our flank - and they will. Glover in the sept will have to hold at all costs, that's our pivot point. Ser Lancel?"

"Ser Brynden."

"Are you with us? Say it now, not tomorrow."

"I'll fight for the Stark wolves, as I've promised," the young man replied listlessly. "We share no common gods. But before a common enemy, my conscience... must be silent."

Brynden nodded darkly. "Your Warrior's Sons are few, but they'll be a nasty spear in the enemy's side. Keep it there."

"I'll do my best."

The lad was scared, Mormont thought. He had gained a healthy respect for Brynden. Still, she had given orders to keep an eye on the Warrior's Sons. She feared a betrayal. She feared Brynden's nightmares.

"In your first battle, your best will be very little," the Blackfish warned him gruffly. "Keep it in mind, and don't let yourself or your men be killed needlessly."

"I did not imagine my first battle would be like this," Lancel confessed. "I foresaw a heroic charge with my cousin, a lovely lady waiting for me..."

"The only lady here is me," Mormont said, "so try to be a man."

Lancel nodded again, saluted his elders and disappeared towards his cell.

Mallister did not seem inclined to leave. He went on about how the changing wind could put his archers in trouble, and failed to sway Brynden's opinion.

"Let your archers look to themselves, it's your cavalry I'm worried about. They are not in prime condition. Surprise the Greyjoy camp, but don't push the horses. Swing around at once and join us."

"I shall, Ser Brynden." Mallister clenched his fist. "I've been a prisoner in my castle. My son... Let's wipe away this sea scum and then turn to the Freys." He bowed, vaguely embarrassed, and disappeared along the corridor.

Surprised by his outburst, Mormont watched him go as she entered her cell. "Do you think he's reached it?" she asked Brynden. "His breaking point?"

"Mallister has no breaking point," Brynden replied, following her. "But most of us have one." He closed the door behind him. "Careful about the Umbers. They miss their leaders; their morale is low. Don't keep them too close to the front."

"I know." Mormont lit a candle and moved to the small window to close the shutters. "Stop babbling. We've fought together before, Tully."

She turned. The Blackfish glowered, arms folded. "There's an obvious difference."

Mormont put the candle on the tiny table. "Us being lovers won't change the result of the battle."

"I need to tell you something."

Maege shivered. "Blackfish, shut up. You're the one who hates farewells. No last words or promises or any of that shit. Stay alive and tell me later, if it's so important."

Brynden shut up. He looked at her for a long time. "You're right. It can wait."

"Good," Mormont replied, hating that conversation. "If you wish to spend the night, take my bed and go to sleep. I want to oil my mail shirt and..."

Brynden grabbed her by the waist and the nape of her neck, bending to kiss her with abandon. She responded in joy, surprise and confusion. They stumbled towards her narrow cot, tearing their clothes off. Quick and hard, his one-day stubble raspy on her face, a sudden explosion of pleasure, and Maege thought vaguely that he did not want to lower his guard, or that he was too tense to last long. She was so starved for him that she had no complaint.

Then he started anew. He kissed all her body, making her forget about pregnancy lines and fat rolls and callous feet. But then again she did not mind his skinny arse and knobby knees. His lined hands following the path of his lips were love at every brush. It was all Brynden for her, the one she wanted and needed. She even loved the way his unkempt hair fell into his eyes. Why the hell did he want to cut it?

They made love as never before, the opposite of the earlier coupling. They gazed into each other's face by the soft light of the candle, blue eyes locked into black, breathing together. If talking and crying together could be as intense as sex, loving that way was talking with their bodies and sharing their pain. When Brynden could not hold back anymore he buried his face into her neck, reticent to the last, and she loved him more than ever for that. She had no breath left to call his name. She did not need to; Brynden was everywhere and everything. She thought her shudders of ecstasy would never end.

When she shook off an uneasy doze in the first grey of dawn, he was gone.

BRYNDEN

The brothers walked the field of battle in silence, composing the dead, checking the wounded, administering mercy if necessary. Brynden sat on the pebbly shore of the river, his black helm beside him, washing his sword. It would need to be oiled later, but he wanted to make the blood go away. It flowed in the fast water, mingling with other currents of red. Brynden worked like in a dream, tired beyond thinking.

The gravel crunched under a step. A polite cough. Lord Mallister.

"Are you all right, Ser Brynden?"

"Aye. Lady Mormont?"

A war horn answered in triumph somewhere upstream. Brynden managed to grin.

"The Lannister spawn?" he added, not without fondness. He had seen Lancel lead his Warrior's Sons in a wild charge that had completely surprised the Greyjoys.

"Alive, with most of his men."

"Good. We still have some use for them."

Mallister nodded and turned to go, his winged helm under his arm. He glanced again at the Blackfish. "Are you well?"

Brynden thought about it. "I believe I might be losing my taste for this."

"The gods forbid. You pushed the Greyjoys back into the sea and avenged Winterfell."

"Defeating a bunch of pirates on land. Truly heroic. And Winterfell is still in ruins." He hesitated, then added: "The gods forbid, indeed. Go find Lady Maege, my lord."

When Mallister was gone, Brynden dried his sword, laid it on clean gravel and sat looking at the swift current, remembering the rivers of home. The last few months had brought many changes to him, some atrocious, some delightful, some unsettling. But rivers always changed, and rivers always stayed the same. It gave him comfort.

A touch on his shoulder almost made him jump. He had not heard the brother's approach. The hooded young man bent over him, holding out his hand.

"I am all right," Brynden repeated, but it was time to get moving. He accepted the hand, big, strong and callused; his tired back was grateful for a little boost. As they stood, he lifted his head to thank the large brother, looking under the hood at his features, prematurely gaunt, with clear grey eyes _and half his face burned away._

Brynden's words died on his lips. The young man smiled slightly, showing his teeth. Then he turned and walked away.

The Blackfish watched him go, telling himself it had been just a shadow, a trick of the setting sun.

MAEGE

The sept was a burst of rainbows in the morning. Mormont was surprised by that holy feeling, so different from her godswoods. She regretted the times she had been sarcastic about Brynden's Seven. She would not exchange her gods for his, but she felt that they had all watched over them together.

Brynden led her to the centre of the sept, holding her hand, fingers entwined. He gestured around with his free hand. "The most learned septons say these are seven faces of one god. The smallfolk understand it better if they think of seven gods. So do I."

Mormont nodded, looking at the statues against each wall of the seven-sided building. Brynden had told her that styles differed widely, from the solemn marble titans at court to the rough wooden carvings in small villages. Here their faces were barely visible in the stone, but each was beautiful in its way - except the Stranger, the god of the dead, who had no recognizable features.

Mormont did not realize Brynden had gently turned her towards the Warrior, until she looked at the helmeted statue. She still did not understand why they were there.

The Blackfish spoke quietly. "This is what I am, Maege."

"You're a warrior," she said uncertainly.

"I am a Warrior's Son."

She let his hand go as if burned, staring at him while pieces of the riddle began to fall together. She could not gather enough words for a question.

Brynden spoke for her. "I took my vows a few years after I was knighted. To spite my brother, of course, but also for the sake of a pretty sister in the Faith."

Maege found her voice. "Ah, yes. It makes perfect sense, Blackfish. You fall in love with some wench, you take an oath of chastity. It's just like you."

"One day she and some brothers were captured by Mad King Aerys. We tried to free them, but it was too late. A friend prevented me from getting killed, by knocking me out."

The last piece fell into place. Mormont knew what Aerys Targaryen did to his victims. She saw the tall, auburn-haired youth draw his sword screaming, while his own brothers in the Faith overpowered him.

_Unhand me, you bastards..._

That old scar behind his ear meant they had saved his life with a well-aimed blow to his thick Tully head.

"She and her brothers ranked high in the Faith Militant, and after their death we all drifted away from each other," Brynden explained in a low voice. "Came a day when I wasn't able to say who my Elder Brothers were. It was easy to let it slip... to think more of my family than of the Faith. If I'd had an inkling the Warriors' Sons still existed when I took to the field for the Starks, my conscience would have plagued me like Lancel's."

"It still plagues you." Mormont looked into his face. "You've hidden it all this time..."

Brynden nodded. "After King Maegor outlawed them, the Faith Militant included an oath of secrecy. I have broken it only twice: with Catelyn and with my brother. Hoster did not take it kindly." A fond and rueful smile. "So you see, it was not about Selmy, after all. It was about the Warrior."

"You've broken it three times, now," Mormont pointed out.

"If the king has reinstated the Faith Militant, the oath of secrecy is needed no more."

She tried to joke. "And how many times have you broken the oath of chastity?"

"This secret I shall take to my watery grave. But now I'll be expected to hold to my vows more seriously." Brynden's voice was cheerless.

Mormont looked at him, chilled and furious. "The Others take your vows! Men make rules, Bryn, not gods!"

"_I have sworn_, Maege."

"So, are you going to wear a grey frock?" she sneered. "Will you trade your black fish for the seven-pointed star? Will you toe the line dutifully behind some High Septon?"

"Never done it, never will. The habit does not make the man, you said so. I am the commander of the Northern Army. I am the Blackfish."

Mormont shook her head, swallowing tears of rage and grief. "You're the one who runs away, that's who you are." Fury was making her cruel. "Lancel was right."

Brynden took the blow. "If this is cowardice, so be it. I could say I've broken vows before and will again, but I'm not a hypocrite. I picked a fine time to break them with you. If I had known about the Warrior's Sons... But I cannot regret _you_, bear lady."

She could do without men. She could not do without Brynden Tully. She straightened her back. "I'd rather you were in love with Selmy. But I'm still your second-in-command. You won't get rid of me that easily, Blackfish."

Brynden laughed. The sound was not out of place in the sunlit temple. "Who said I am getting rid of you?" He took her hand again and led her towards one of the walls.

The sculpture in the niche was indistinctly formed like the others, but Mormont could perceive the features of a very young and beautiful woman, the perfect oval of her face framed by soft curls and a veil, a circlet around her brow.

Brynden turned towards Mormont and stroked her square lined cheek, pushing a stray lock of grey-black hair behind her ear. "The Maiden," he said as softly as she had ever heard him. "Since we've been together, Maege, I always see your face in hers."

She looked wide-eyed at him. He gently wiped her tears away. "I do hate farewells," he whispered. He kissed her cheek, then let her hand go and left the sept.

What the hell does he mean, Mormont thought, drying her eyes and sniffling into her sleeve. She straightened her mail shirt. There was business to take care of.

THE END


End file.
